Too Much Happiness
by danzori
Summary: Short drabbles/oneshots from various points of view. "...she swiftly looked away from the madness that was his tarnished soul..."
1. Crying

**Hey! Welcome to my new story! It will contain oneshots (more like prompts) from various points of views, simply randomly.  
>I do not know what I will write beforehand so if you feel like requesting something in particular don't hestitate to tell me! :)<strong>

**And as always, read and review, all of you. Feedback is my drug, LOL!  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: I don't own HP, J.K Rowling does. I just like playing with the masterpiece.**

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><p><strong><em>Too Much Happiness<em>**

**_a story by ~danzori_**

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><p><strong>1.<strong> **CRYING **_[Narcissa Malfoy/Voldemort]_

A shiver. Red eyes. "Please don't." Red eyes meeting blue ones. She looked away, desperately trying holding back the tears.

"Give me a good reason not to, then." He said softly, smiling at her. His inhuman face was so close to hers, almost as if he was going to kiss her. She could taste the salt from her tears on her dry lips, a taste which she had never liked. The taste of tears. The taste of weakness.

She had never spent so many days without bathing in her entire life or without changing clothes. There were deep circles under her eyes, and her face was pale, going with her blonde and usually luxuriously soft hair, which was now matted and lifeless."Don't." was all she could utter, her voice cracking at the end. Her eyes met his for one second and she swiftly looked away from the madness that was his tarnished soul. His smile grew wider as her sobs grew louder.


	2. Clock

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of it's characters, it all belongs to J.K Rowling. I only write for the sake of my own amusement. LOL.**

**2. Clock**

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><p>Tick. Tock. Tick Tock.<p>

Harry was literally sleeping on his bench. His head was resting quite uncomfortably on his right arm and therefore the ticking noise; his wrist watch.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Firstly, he couldn't remember where he was. His first thought was that maybe he had fallen asleep in the library whilst trying to study, but then he heard the voice of Professor Binns and immediately wished he hadn't woken up.  
>He sighed.<br>There was only one student in the classroom that wasn't half asleep, and that was of course Hermione. She was ambitiously taking notes and scribbling eagerly with her feather pen. The lonely sound of ink being written on parch could be heard in the silence that arose when professor Binns paused to clear his throat. Harry had never quite understood how Hermione could resist the sleeping hex that was the professor's voice.

Next to him, Ron was sprawled across his bench, snoring quite loudly, to Hermione's clear annoyance. Harry gave out a low chuckle as Ron snored extra loudly. No one seemed to notice though, since most of the class was half asleep, least of all the professor himself whose monotone voice never seemed to stop.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

He eyed his watch. Another hour left. Maybe he should start taking notes, that way the tests would be much easier later on, he knew that.  
>If Hermione didn't…? Let him copy her notes? By the killing looks she was currently giving him, it didn't seem like that.<p>

I'll start taking notes next lesson, Harry thought to himself as he could feel his head getting heavy. He leant against his bench, not even trying to listen to the professor. All that Harry could hear for the rest of the lesson was his own wrist watch.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

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><p><em>Read and review! :) <em>


	3. Moonlight

He's one of my favourite characters in the series. You fascinate me, Man of the moon.

_DISCLAIMER: Yeah, you know it, don't own HP, blah. I wish._

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><p><em><strong>3. Moonlight<strong> [Remus Lupin]_

He sits on his four poster bed with the dark red curtains, thinking about the moon and the stars in the sky; imagining he is a bird that can fly up there amongst his friends with no fear of the bright lamp that hangs above the castle and the nature and beautiful landscape surrounding it. His eyes are a light brown, a muddy colour, a piece of the earth itself, and maybe it's a sign that he was made to walk this earth.

The castle is silent, the dormitory too; the only sounds heard are the light snores of his friends who are now in their own worlds, places he will never reach, dreams he cannot enter. They can dream of their perfect worlds, their realities and the joys and wonders of life but they can never know him, who he really is, why he always seems to be so tired, or why he really drinks four cups of black coffee every morning.

The feeling of loneliness hits him.

Eleven year old Remus Lupin never sleeps, he just doesn't. He sits in his bed, quietly pondering, wondering why _him_.


	4. Different

**4. Different [_Narcissa Malfoy_]**

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><p>She grew up in a proud family with a fine and pure bloodline, a family with secrets, a family of darkness. When she was a little girl she went to dinner parties in fine silk dresses, she wore expensive jewellery and her father always complimented her on her fine looks.<br>"You look like your mother." he used to say in his raspy and deep voice. "Except for the hair, I suppose." and he would frown a little.  
>Blonde, luxurious hair, she had.<p>

They had plenty of house elves, plenty of money, plenty of everything. They were a dark family, a dark but pure bloodline. All the Black children were beautiful, with handsome faces, silken hair and expensive robes. Their names were made by the black and silent sky; each person named after a star.

In the night, when she studied the endless sky above her, saw the twinkling stars, yes, she saw them all. Her sisters, cousins, parents and grandparents. Each and everyone belonging to the noble house of Black had their own star.

Everyone, except for her.

Dark hair, dark eyes, darkness. These were their signature looks, the Blacks.  
>But she was different, she always was.<p>

Compared to her sisters and cousins she was like the silver glow of a full moon, or the ice floes on a dark winter night, glistening and frozen over a dark lake, surrounded by darkness. Her hair was a bright blonde, looking even brighter next to her two sisters. Her eyes were blue; just like the sky she used to love studying as a child.

She was the only remaining Black with bright colours. She wasn't normal. She was a beauty compared to her friends at Hogwarts, she was the delicate flower, the brightest little star. Was she a star? How can someone who has a family of stars be called a star herself when named after a flower?  
>She always wondered why her father and mother chose to name her differently; Narcissa. Why couldn't she be just like her sisters or her cousins? Why her?<p>

"You're special." her mother used to say and give her a small smile, a smile she usually never showed, a smile hidden to the judging world outside the Black manor. It was a smile reserved for her little girl, her delicate flower, always so bright, always so stunning.

Sometimes, Narcissa would go further and ask her mother why, why then, does she have to be special? Why couldn't she just look like Andy and Bella, they were so beautiful, oh, weren't they, mother? Her mother wouldn't know what to say, would just sit there, absentmindedly gazing at her youngest daughter, as if lost in an entirely different world, a place far away from the young girl who so intensely needed to know what difference really was, what darkness, love and blood really meant.

Sometimes, when sharing a moment with her father, like decorating their mansion for Christmas or reading a book in the drawing room, he would randomly say something like:

"It does not matter what you look like on the outside, Cissy, as long as you know you're a Black at heart."

That was the only answer her parents gave her to her lifelong question, the never ending insecurity when looking at her dark, brilliantly beautiful sisters. No need to worry Cissy, as long as you're a Black at heart. And when comfortably tucked under her silk sheets at night, while watching the enchanted stars in her high bedroom ceiling, she would whisper to herself the only thing she knew, the thing that kept her eyes steady on the stars in her own sky.

"Toujours pur."


End file.
